


tied for one

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 100 percent happiness, Fluff, M/M, just ..... happy, no sad, set when they were training cause i mean no angst means it gotta be set back then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: just a whole buncha fluff. the sky is blue. the grass is green. two people in love.





	tied for one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoireRigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoireRigel/gifts).



JJ’s never been drunk before. He’s never _drank_ before.

Parents think they’re out at a campfire social, the church youth group, whatever.

But they’re up on top of the hill that overlooks the bend in the river, where the spruce rise spindly along the banks and thick rows of poplar trees in full summer greenery bed the rise of grassy slopes.

In the shade of a quaking aspen, Otabek leans against the peeling trunk, and JJ lounges across his outstretched legs, which can only be comfortable because of the empty beer cans in the grass around them, which waves so much like the ocean in the breeze.

It’s stopped being funny by now. Otabek’s goal, secondary to improving his skating, of course, is to show Jean-Jacques Leroy more of the real world, ever since he was hit with the initial wave of incredulity: JJ doesn’t get any subtext to anything (69 is just a pair of odd numbers to him), doesn’t know the difference between vodka and beer ( _vodka’s like . . . clearer?_ ), and wouldn’t recognize Lamar, or LeBron, or anyone else if they walked up to him and served him one in the face for being so _fucking beautiful –_

\-- well that’s just the truth, and you can’t blame Otabek for thinking it. Can’t blame JJ’s girlfriend either, but that’s another story that Otabek doesn’t care at all to read.

It’s stopped being funny now. Somehow Otabek convinced JJ to try getting drunk at 4:30 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon; somehow JJ agreed. It was funny at first. Otabek half expected JJ’s motor mouth to rev even faster, but he seems sleepier and quieter with alcohol in him.

JJ’s rolled over onto his back, still across Otabek’s legs, his own legs extending long into the grass. Breeze gently stirs the top of his undercut. His eyes are a blue deeper and more intense than the sky which itself is the clearest Otabek’s ever seen, studded with diamond-bright clouds; no, JJ’s eyes are more than that, and it may seem impossible, but the sky’s right there to confirm.

Lost in thought, Otabek abruptly notices the feeling of a hand, fingers gentle along the side of his cheek, tugging his focus to where it’s always destined to go when they’ve got some premise of being alone together.

“You’re gorgeous, Beka.” The words drop like warm honey from JJ’s lips, and spool, and melt into Otabek’s mind. There’s no drunken lilt, at least, not too much of it, to obscure the truth. This makes Otabek’s heart seize.  Otabek can hold his drink, but clearly JJ’s a lightweight, not used to any alcohol at all.

JJ pushes himself up and hovers close to Otabek, looking like he’s admiring every part of his face, his thumb on his eyebrows and then brushing cheekbone, edge of lips. “You’ve nice eyes . . . ‘s not bad to think that, 's it?” JJ says.

“No,” Otabek says as JJ’s lashes shield his eyes, gaze down, maybe thinking about Otabek’s body, _maybe that’s enough to thrill._

“Only kissed ‘sabella once,” JJ says, his words stark in the quiet of the breeze and the soft sounds the leaves of the aspen make around them, “it was pretty gross.”

He seems to have some further thought, but doesn’t have the faculty to explain it at the moment, perhaps, and suddenly tilts his head just the slightest, and his lips part just the slightest, and his gaze moves back up as he leans in to Otabek. Asking? Waiting? Hesitant? Unsure? Polite? All five, and maybe none. Doesn’t matter. Quickly, once he realizes JJ is not going to finish what he started, Otabek presses their lips together, even though they both taste like the same cheap Labatt.

All JJ’s buzz, his spark and feist, determination, loudness, tall frame and unflagging- _so-it-may-seem_ confidence, has been condensed in this moment and now simmers, ready or more ready than it’s ever been, as they kiss. Condensed into Otabek’s hands, in his lap, as their lips move together and arms fumble to steady and wrap around each other.

JJ won’t be drunk forever. Maybe he’ll remember this. Hopefully, he’ll remember this.

When they part, it’s JJ leaning back and Otabek leaning forward, thinking their legs are tangled enough they’ll have some trouble getting up (depends on JJ’s motor skills).

JJ’s looking a mix of confusion, wonder, and dampened exultation. “Wasn’t gross,” he says. “’s do it again.” He leans back in; Otabek pauses for a moment, because he’s just tied Isabella for one and maybe he should be a gentleman and concede the lead before he overtakes.

But JJ’s eyes are a better blue than the sky, and Otabek’s been deemed gorgeous by his decree; here is a victory handed to him, and wouldn’t he be a fool to not take the win?


End file.
